


Young God

by Lafyel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bickering, Bittersweet, Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Foul-Mouthed Draco, M/M, Nondescript Timeline, Oblivious Harry, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2018-12-13 02:19:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11750031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafyel/pseuds/Lafyel
Summary: The one in which Draco and Harry runaway together





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> But do you feel like a young god?  
> You know the two of us are just young gods  
> And we'll be flying through the streets with the people underneath  
> And they're running, running, running

The start of summer comes with an eerie silence.

The days are unusually warm, the heat blisteringly hot. There is mild panic from the citizens, constant talk of sunburns and the daily reminder to apply sunblock, to wear a hat, to stay out of the sun for extended periods of time. Harry’s skin has gone from a barely there tan to a dark golden hue, a color he finds ironic yet, befitting of the golden boy status he’s received over the years. The house is quiet, filled with soft sounds of the television in another room, the obnoxious laughter of Dudley, faint and muffled through the walls.

Green eyes slip shut and there’s a stray thought about Ron and Hermione, of Ginny and the rest of the Weasley’s. He can hear the soft patter of rain against the window, metal bars long since been removed. His freedom to come and go as he pleases has increased over time – yet his relationship with his relatives will never be anything more than a formality. Harry rolls over on his best, curls his arm up beneath his head. He stares at Hedwig through the crooked and tilted frames of his glasses, and smiles at the soft cooing sound she makes.

The light sound of rain increases, the patter against his window covering the sound of the god awful show his cousin is watching. His aunt and uncle are out, at some dinner party that needed to be attended. It was something Dudley had thrown a fit about – had wanted to stay home so he could watch his favorite shows. Harry thinks that if it weren’t raining he’d send Hedwig out with some letters, see how his friends were doing. He knows that the owl would appreciate stretching her wings, hates the few months of summer, of spending more time in a cage then out.

It’s like this, that he starts to doze off, in the eerily calm setting of his room. The gentle tapping against the window, the quiet calm of the house lulls him into a half awake state. Scattered thoughts, barely beginning dreams and a sudden sharp tap against the window jerks Harry awake. Green eyes open, glasses crooked and hair sticking up in the back. He stares up at the ceiling, thinks that he should get ready for bed regardless of the time.

Another sharp sound against his window has him sitting up, turning towards it.

Hedwig ruffles her wings, restless. She makes a soft sound and Harry shushes her. He runs his hands through his hair, pushes the back down as he leans towards his window. Squinting to see in the dark against the bright lights of the house, Harry looks out across the yard, and can make out a figure beneath the tree at the edge of the property.

Something hits the window, sharp and startling, has Harry jerking back fully awake now.

He flicks the light in his room off, looks out into the dark. The figure in the yard he knows all too well. He feels a heavy weight in his chest, a cold chill run over him. Pale skin and even paler hair, sharp eyes and a tongue that could cut deeper than any knife he’s ever seen. Harry unlocks his window and pushes it up, leans out into the all too warm summer air. It’s stifling, humid from the rain and he feels like it takes his breath away.

Beneath the tree he sees Draco, blond hair wet from the rain, dark clothes sticking to his skin.

Of all the people to visit him, Harry can’t fathom why Malfoy would be there. He leans against the window sill, can feel the rain against his skin, speckling his glasses. Draco is staring at him, hesitance in every feature, uncertainty over flowing. The weight in Harry’s chest drops to his stomach, the flutter of nerves and adrenaline filling him.

“Is…” He starts, doesn’t want to shout, doesn’t want Dudley to grow aware of the visitor. “…Is something wrong?” The soft patter of rain, the constant drizzle is all Harry is met with in response, leaves him achingly curious.

He knows the family Draco comes from, knows his father, what he’s done – is capable of.

And yet he can’t seem to feel threatened, to feel worry in this moment. There’s only concern filling him, what with the way Draco is there, in the dark without his usual scowl and sharp words, pointed eyes. With a lingering glance Harry leans back inside of the room, tugs the window down. He starts towards his bedroom door, a flutter of wings from Hedwig, a loud squawking sound pulls his attention to the owl.

“It’s raining.” He starts, but the owl tilts her head, looks at him and then at where he keeps his wand.  Harry unlocks the owls cage, is unsurprised as she moves to sit on his shoulder, feet digging in just hard enough to maintain balance. He turns back to the door and Hedwig ruffles her feathers again, true concern and it leaves him smiling. Harry takes his wand and tucks it against his back, beneath his shirt.

He steps carefully through the house and to the backdoor, knows what steps to avoid in order to keep from being heard. The air outside is warm, stifling almost and Harry is torn between hurrying over to Draco and holding his ground.

When clear grey eyes look up and meet his own, he feels his chest tighten.

“What’s wrong?”

There’s a small unsure smile on Draco’s face and Harry can’t help but like the sincerity of it, the genuine nature.  By now he’s halfway across the yard and Hedwig has flown up into the tree, wings stretching with the movement. The blond leans back against the tree heavily, has this drained expression on his face, tired.

“You really are a fool, Potter.”

Harry stops, just out of arms reach. The words surprise him, have him stalling in his movements, a flicker of worry filling him, of doubt, of  _maybe I really was wrong?_  Grey eyes lock onto his own again, and Harry doesn’t reach for his wand, doesn’t move. He can see the lack of malice there, of too much emotion, and despite all their years fighting Harry takes a step forward.

Or maybe it is because of their history.

Draco smiles, small but a slight upturn at the corner of his lips.

“…want to do something different – this summer?”

Harry stills, and it’s because he doesn’t know what to make of this, doesn’t know how to interpret the other’s words, the tone of his voice. There’s confusion on his face, rain matting his hair down, sticking the dark locks against his forehead, his neck.

“Why are you here Malfoy?”

The soft patter of rain, of an unrelenting drizzle that is just loud enough to fill the silence, echoes in Harry’s ears. He watches as the blond shifts, head tilting to the side, of pale hair sticking to skin, of silver eyes staring back at him, and he thinks he’s never seen something so –

_“Run away with me.”_

\- Ethereal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry hasn’t turned 16 yet, Draco has - so this is in early July. Events up until the end of book 5 are relatively consistent with this divergence. Sirius hasn’t died in this altercation but Voldemort is still present (somewhere).

It’s in the silence that Harry thinks back to that moment.

Leaning against a stone wall, his eyes shut to the quiet sounds of the city slowly waking. He’s far enough back in the alley to not be seen, dark cloak over his shoulders and hood pulled up. Harry’s jeans are torn at the knee, hanging low on his hips - sneakers covered in old dirt. He has his arms folded against his back, exhaustion slowly seeping into him. The texture of the wall is comforting, grounding him from his thoughts.

He thinks of the soft sound of rain, of the look Draco had given him that night.

He thinks of the warmth of early summer, of the metallic scent in the air.

He thinks of the way the moon reflected in Draco’s eyes, of the silver light shining through.

But most of all he remembers the way his chest had felt and the way the words fell from his mouth before he could even think of the consequences. ( _“Okay.”_ ) Harry can still feel the cold fingers that had wrapped around his wrist, the all too gentle tug urging him to move.  He recalls the peculiar sense of silence that night, of how he felt deaf to everything around them.

A small shift and Harry tilts his head back, stares up at the crooked building, the overcast sky. He feels warm and cold all at the same time, an emptiness in his chest. The peculiar sense of being alone had never bothered him before, had never left such a heavy weight on his shoulders.

He wants Draco to return already, wants to see pale skin and clear eyes. He’s never felt such a gnawing need to be beside someone, let alone Draco. Harry still doesn’t understand what they’re doing, thinks that when they get caught – not an if, but when – there will be massive repercussions. Despite this thought, he can’t help but continue on, can’t help but trust in the uncertain smile Draco gives.

Quiet steps and he turns to look to his right, at the entrance to the alley.

The blond is back, is carrying a small bag – “Breakfast sounded good.” – and Harry can’t stop the smile from spreading across his face.

He takes the offered food, slides down into a crouched position against the wall. When Draco moves to do the same, he can’t help but feel like this was the right decision. There’s nothing that can make him think otherwise, nothing to stop him from giving the blond a small nudge, a quiet thanks. The two eat in near silence, cornish pasty’s that flak when bitten, that are still hot on the inside.

“Is there anywhere in particular that you’d like to go?” Draco asks, stares down at the faint grease on his fingertips, knows better than to wipe them on his pants. Manners have been ingrained in him, beaten into him as far back as he can remember. He watches Harry do just that, hands rubbing over the thigh of his jeans before turning to look at him.

“Anywhere is fine – but I suppose we should avoid places people would typically look?”

Draco isn’t listening, not at first, finds himself simply staring at the one beside him. He looks away, back at his fingers, rubs the grease against his pants – pressed black slacks. “Anywhere.” The word is repeated, head shaking and blond hair moving easily. “You’re such an idiot, Potter.”

Harry rolls his eyes in response, elbows Draco. “Okay – sure. If I’m an idiot then you’re a moron.”

A glare is shot back at him, yet no other form of retaliation. “How about we take the night bus?” The blond suggests, pushes himself back up to lean against the wall. Clear eyes look down at Harry, drift towards the street they’re near, waiting for a response.

“I don’t think the night bus would be good.” A small pause and the tanned male moves his legs, sits on the ground. “We don’t want to be caught.” Harry knows all too well about how quickly the ministry can find someone, wonders idly why they haven’t been surrounded already.

A smile forms on pale lips, a soft “…yeah…” slips out, and its airy sounding. Draco wants to ask what caused Harry to come with him, what he was thinking. He’d gone after the other teen on a whim, an argument with his father having bothered him.

“Oh – I have an idea.” Green eyes turn and stare up, dark strands of hair brushing over shoulders. “Let’s use muggle transportation – the train can take us pretty far.” The angle has the hood of the cloak slipping off, bunching up around Harry’s neck.

Draco’s upper lip curls in a sign of disgust, revolution at the idea of being so close to loathsome creatures. “That is a terrible idea.”

“Do you want to just go home then?”

There’s silence, the faint sound of laughter from a person on the street.

“No – just…” Draco sounds exhausted and it has Harry pushing himself up.

“Trust me.” He says, and clear eyes turn towards him, run over his features, linger on the scar. He reaches out and just as Draco had done that first night, he curls his fingers around the others wrist. It’s cool, skin like ice and Harry can’t help but be amused. “You’re always so cold.” He comments.

A gentle tug and they start towards the street.

“You’re just overly warm.”

Harry turns his head, glances at the blond with a small, knowing smile on his face. “Muggles have a saying,” He starts, turning back towards the street as he leads the other out into the morning light. “How cold hands mean you have a warm heart.”

“Muggles are stupid.” Draco counters, yet he can’t bring himself to pull his hand from the other.

“If you say so.” A light tug and he pulls the taller male beside him. A brief silence falls between the two, is only broken by the sounds of the shops around them as they walk down the street. Passing individuals give the two a curious glance and nothing more, eyes lingering on Harry more so then Draco walking beside him. The blond stops when they get near a familiar area, pulls Harry to a stop, keeps him from continuing on ahead. He nods towards his left, at knockturn alley, lips curving into a smile. “I have an idea.”

And Harry finds his hand in Draco’s, curious as to what the other is thinking.

They walk down the small and weaving alley, green eyes turning this way and that, looking into the shop windows. He avoids making eye contact with anyone they pass, can feel eyes boring into him. There’s a trickle of unease in his chest, a muted worry. He remembers what Hagrid had said long ago, how the area was not exactly… reputable.

A sudden stop and his hand is dropped. “We should…” Draco starts, and turns to face Harry. He reaches and tugs the hood to the cloak back up, covers dark hair. “It’s probably best if you’re not recognized quickly.”

“Malfoy.” There’s determination, a hardness to Harry’s words and he reaches forward. “I think you are more noticeable here.” He’s pulling at the blond’s hood, placing it with care around the other’s head, obscuring his face from view. “I think down here it’s more likely that people will notice you.”

“…that’s true – but it’s normal for my family.”

“Still, if you’re seen.”

“The same can be said for you.”

Harry is smiling, amused with their small chatter, with the back and forth comments. He’s reminded of conversations between Ron and Hermione, a constant stream of back and forth. It feels vaguely normal, easy and he hates how much he likes it, hates how his chest feels tight, how Draco’s words ease the worry fluttering through him.

“What’s your idea anyways?” He finds himself asking before he can stop himself.

Draco leans down, is suddenly crowding his space and Harry can feel his interest peak. He turns his head, wants to keep eye contact yet the hood is making that impossible. “Malfoy?” A soft question, slight unease and Harry finds himself looking at flashes of pale skin and even paler hair.

He thinks it’s like strands of silver light.

“There’s a shop we can buy a temporary wand at, use it and not get traced through our magic.” The words are quiet, and rightfully so.

Harry nods, knows that being caught with such a thing would warrant punishment that went far above being a runaway. He can’t help but realize he doesn’t care about that, about breaking more rules then he already has. He knows he’s supposed to stay with his relatives during the summer, that continuing to call that place home grants him a kind of protection. There’s been offhand comments over the years, small seemingly unimportant words dropped here and there. Bits of information that has given him an idea about the protection he has there.

And yet Harry had said yes, had gone with Draco.

He had moved on instinct, had responded to the flutter in his chest, the way silver eyes had stared at him.

Harry’s brought back to the present, to arms wrapping around him, tugging him out of the way of people shuffling by. Draco’s head is tilted down, face hidden from view. “Don’t move – don’t look.” He mutters, breathe strangely warm against Harry.

“Why?” A muttered response.

“Friends of my father.” Draco’s hand moves, brushes over the other male’s back, beneath the robes and against where the wand has been tucked away, out of sight for days. A brief sense of dread washes over Harry and he squirms, pushes back and out of Draco’s grasp.

“Watch where you’re touching.” He hisses, manages to finally look at the blond.

“You didn’t trust me.”

Harry thinks he can hear a bit of hurt in Draco’s words, ignores the straight line of his lips. He’s starting to understand the other’s expressions, starting to know which ones are forced, what is done as a cover for deeper feelings.

“Malfoy – don’t.”

“Don’t what? Potter?” Hissed words and Harry realizes they’re being stared at. He leans forward, grabs at the blond’s chest, the front of his shirt and tugs him down the few inches separating them. Their hoods cover their faces, obscure the moment from onlookers.

“If I didn’t trust you I wouldn’t bloody well be here.”

The words are lost on Draco, who’s preoccupied with Harry’s proximity, with the lingering moment of hurt and sense of distrust. He’s leaning back before green eyes can fully take in his expression, before the color on his face can darken to something noticeable.

Realization hits him, a passing witch giving them a smug and knowing look.

Draco’s hand reaches up and covers his face, the burning sensation of his ears all too real. “You git – that was on purpose.”

“People stopped staring.” Harry’s turning, taking a few steps in the direction they had been going. He glances back at Draco, words filling his chest, moving up to his tongue. There’s a question he wants to ask, curiosity spiking at the others reaction just now.

But the middle of the street is not a place to say such words, to have a potentially heavy conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry: how to make people not stare? Oh lets look like we're snogging in the middle of the fucking alley
> 
> ((Tag's and rating will be adjusted as we go.))


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cross post the story to my Tumblr, which will be a chapter ahead of here. If you chose to wait for the posting here, know that it will have been edited and tweaked before hand. I will likely have fixed sentence structures for things to flow better. I am human though and have no real beta.
> 
> My tumblr url is the same as my username here.

They’re huddled in the back of an old bar, hoods drawn up, faces obscured.

Harry has his seat pulled up beside Draco’s, chair so close that the blond had given him this _look_ that had made him smile, bemused. The small table they’re sat at is worn with deep scratches in the wood, a softness to its texture. Green eyes peer down at the wand Draco is holding, just under the table. It looks no different from the others he’s seen. The wood is a soft yew, pliable and easily broken.

A tilt of the head and clear eyes are running over Harry’s face. He’s silently waiting for a look of disapproval, some sign of regret showing through. When he sees none, when those vibrant and all too colorful eyes look back up and meet his own, he looks away. Draco spins the wand in his hand, points the handle at Harry and looks away.

They’ve barely spoken since entering the pub, since leaving the old shop where the wand was purchased.

Harry knows that it’s his fault, that he _might_ have over stepped their fragile friendship. ( _Are we really even friends?_ ) He doesn’t regret his actions, doesn’t regret the apparent lack of personal space he’s giving the other. There’s something filling his chest, a flicker of nerves, of a tightness he felt that first night.

It’s been almost a week.

( _Are they looking for me yet?_

 _Most likely…_ )

Green eyes flick down at the wand and then back up at Draco. A small frown forms on his face and he knows it’s more of a pout than anything else. Mixed emotions are filling him, a lingering sense of uncertainty and the constant echo of _Why?_ running through his mind. Fingers trail over the smooth wood contemplative at the soft texture, yet he doesn’t take the wand in his hand. The hum of power is there, strong and it vibrates against the pads of his fingers.

Harry thinks he can feel Draco’s own power trickling across the wand, licking up at his hand.

Idle thoughts and he wonders if the other can feel his own, wonders if it’s because they’re about to hold the same wand. Draco turns, hood moving just enough so that Harry can see those bright clear eyes and he curls his hand around the wand, feels the smooth wood against his palm. A hum of foreign magic runs over him, something not his own, not Draco’s and his lips stretch into a wide smile.

“You look like a freak.” Hushed words with a hint of disgust.

“I can feel your presence.”

“I repeat: Freak.” Lips curl back into a disgusted expression, one that Harry is all too familiar with seeing.

The blond sits up straight head snapping to the left. He drops the end of the wand, frowns at the woman approaching the table. Harry instantly feels a different form of power through the wand, no longer senses Draco and he realizes that the magic signature changes depending on who is grasping the object. He slides it into the sleeve of the robe he’s wearing, keeps his head tilted down.

“Y’r ta buy somethin’ or leave.” A heavy accent and from Harry’s vantage point he can see the tattered clothes the woman wore. Her hand is on her hip, nails crusted with dirt, pointed and yellowed. He gives a small nudge to Draco under the table.

“Two drinks – don’t care what.” Two galleons are set on the table, the soft clink of gold all too noticeable. “Make sure the cups are _clean_ and you can keep the rest.”

The woman reaches for the money and leaves the table.

Harry’s chest is suddenly tight and he doesn’t know why. He lets out a slow breath, glances around the bar as indiscreetly as he can. Draco is leaning back towards him, head tilted so that no one can see his mouth move when speaking. “Not drinking will be suspicious.” He says, and Harry can hear the unsaid teasing.

“I know.” He responds and grits his teeth.

“You’ve never had alcohol right?”

Draco is met with silence, smile stretching wider then Harry had thought possible.

“You look like a _freak_.” He says, is met with a stifled laugh. The sound is warm and for a second Harry feels disarmed, caught off balance. He wants to change the subject, divert the conversation away from himself and lack of life experiences. “Where should we go from here?”

Harry’s words fade into the air, soft muffled sounds of conversations nearby filling the space, of glasses clinking in the background and a barking laugh. Draco seems to be thinking, lips set in a straight line. Silver eyes turn and stare off into space. He taps Harry’s leg under the table, palm open.

“Wand please.” The soft wood is slipped over, out of sight and Draco curls his fingers around the base. “I was thinking of finding a place to sleep properly tonight.” There’s a faint hum, a flicker of Harry’s own power and Draco lets out a low sound, contemplative or amused. Harry doesn’t know which, is still trying to figure out the blond’s expressions.

“Shouldn’t we leave Diagon though?”

A shuffling sound and the two fall quiet as the woman returns, dropping two heavy mugs on the table. She gives a lingering look before turning and heading back towards the bar.

“We will – I figured we could apparate.”

Harry’s nose scrunches up, is instantly followed by “No – you’ll splice me in half.” His words hold his clear disgust at the idea. “Let’s just take the muggle train.”

“I don’t want to be anywhere near those filthy creatures.” Draco reaches for the mug, fingers roaming over the edge of the glass as if inspecting the quality.

“And I don’t want to lose my bloody arm – or leg or any part of me for that matter.”

“You could do with one less hand, it’ll be fine.”

“We’re taking the train.” Harry reaches out for the other mug, takes a hurried sip. The liquid is bitter and smooth, tastes about the same as it smelt. “This is gross.”

 “Drink up, _child_.” There’s a teasing hint to Draco’s words and Harry kicks him under the table. He’s amazed they managed four days without an argument, amazed at the civil conduct they’ve had. He wants to ask about the first night, about the distressed look Draco had on his face, the pain that had been so blatantly showing through.

Another sip from the mug and Harry stares down into the amber liquid. Thoughts of rain against his bedroom window, of Hedwig perched high in the tree fill his mind. He looks over at the blond, who’s managed half the mug already, whose lips are curved up at the edges. Harry thinks he’s pleased at having the last word.

“Why did you…” He starts before he can stop himself. This is not the place nor the time, but the questions have been festering, bubbling up in his chest and lingering at the back of his throat. Harry looks away quickly, busies himself with a large gulp of beer. Draco’s eyes are on him, searching, waiting for the rest of the sentence.

“Why did I what?” Careful words in a level tone and Harry feels a shiver run down his back.

He takes another drink, another large mouthful. The alcohol is making him feel calm, light and he can understand why someone would bother with something that tasted so foul.

“Potter.” A quiet word, yet spoken with a harsh tone demanding of attention.

“Why did you come see me, of all people?” Harry shifts his head, an attempt at moving the hood of the cloak back. He wants to see Draco’s expression, wants to know if he should be worried. Up until now there’s been nothing that’s left him anxious, nothing the other has done that has made him feel as if he were at risk.

The soft clink of glasses fills the silence between them, muffled words and creaking floor boards. Distant conversations are drowned out by the shop door opening and swinging shut heavily. Harry’s eyes don’t stray from Draco, who’s turned and looked off at a distant window. There’s dirt around the edges, dust and cobwebs covering the wooden sill. The blond is tense and Harry can see his jaw tight, watches as he swallows down most likely uncomfortable with the question.

“Why did you come with me?”

Those silver eyes are back and Harry feels strangely vulnerable. He opens his mouth, brows pushing together as he tries to form a response. Nothing comes to mind except the look he was given that first night, the tight sensation in his chest, the worry he had felt upon seeing the other. He shuts his mouth, eyes turning down, realization sweeping through him.

“I don’t really know.”

Draco seems less tense, eyes turning back to the mugs before them. He picks his own back up, draws a large amount into his mouth. Soft conversations, a gentle clinking of a bell above the shop door as its open and swung shut once more fill the space. Harry’s staring down at the worn wood, fidgets in his seat. He suddenly feels restless, anxious and it takes Draco nudging him under the table to gather his attention.

“When you can answer me, then I’ll tell you.”

Moments pass and Draco finishes his drink, eyes trailing over the quarter of liquid left in Harry’s mug. The day is passing, the sun slowly sinking outside, is starting to cast long shadows over the streets. “We need to get going.”

“We haven’t decided where.” Harry interjects, is still transfixed on his own inability to figure out _why_ he’d gone with Draco – with someone who insulted his friends on a daily basis, someone whose father was a follower of the very being trying to kill him. He lets out a low sigh, elbow pressing against the table as he leans his head against his hand.

“We can figure that out on your train.”

The woman is back, shuffling over to their table with the grace of a hippo. Draco gives Harry a quick glance, “Ready?” He breathes, and it’s in an airy almost excited tone. Green eyes peer up, glance at the woman as she comes to stand beside their table, neatly tucked towards the back of the bar, away from the other customers.

Draco tilts his head, looks up at the woman and Harry realizes the wand is out, is just barely pointed over the table. It’s inconspicuous and it has his chest tight, worry and dread filling him. From their position he knows no one else in the bar would notice if magic was used.

“Malfoy.” He hisses.

“ ** _Obliviate_**.” A small spark is shot from the end of the wand, hits the woman in the stomach and washes over her form.  Draco abruptly stands and grabs Harry’s wrist, the two walking briskly towards the front door the shop. The bell clinks as they step out onto the street, the woman blinking and looking down at the mugs left behind, brows furrowed. She picks the glasses up and continues on with her day.

Harry hurries alongside the blond, cold fingers gripping tight against him.

There’s adrenaline coursing through him, excitement and nerves and the very real aspect of having done something illegal just now.

“Did you just remove us from her memories?” There’s a touch of awe to his words, surprise.

“And?” Draco glances back, has yet to let go of Harry’s wrist.

“I’m impressed.”

“Now it’s your turn to impress me, let’s see how far the muggle train can go.”


	4. Chapter 4

It’s in the middle of the train, in the soft silence as it moves along through the underground passage, that Harry belatedly realizes just how unmuggle-like he looks. He makes a small sound in his throat, something that is lost in the soft woosh of the air as they fly through the subway system. His hand moves up and he pinches his nose, can feel embarrassment swell in his chest. Draco is standing beside him, leaning against one of the metal bars beside the door. He refused to sit down, had hissed about not wanting to touch such common folk items. His arms are crossed and his expression set, clear eyes now the deep grey of a storm.

“Stop glaring.” Harry mutters, gives a light tug to the blond’s robes.

“I will when they do.”

There’s an announcement overhead, a low chime ringing in before a calm woman states the name of the upcoming stop. The train slows down as it approaches the platform, Draco taking a step to the side as he fights to keep his balance. Harry watches as the doors slide open, and before he can dwell on the thought he’s grabbing the other’s arm, tugging him off the subway, eyes darting around, searching for a sign hanging above.

Beside him Draco is pulling at the grip on his arm, complaining, questions spitting out in rapid succession.  Harry finds the tone familiar, can hear the irritation in the other’s voice - the loathing - and he knows it has to do with their location, with having been on muggle transportation.

With having been stared at like _he_ was disgusting by muggles.

A light jerk and Draco realizes they’re inside a public bathroom. He scowls darkly at the porcelain, looks over at Harry as he glances under the stalls, checking to see if they’re alone. “We need to get new clothes.”

The statement has the blond blinking, animosity dropping. “Well maybe this time you can dress nicely.”

“New clothes for you.” Harry corrects. He turns back around and tugs the robe off he’d been wearing. “We stand out too much with this – and you…” His words trail off, unsure how to describe the other’s look. Regal would be the right word, but it didn’t feel appropriate to use. “You stand out too much.” Harry balls the robe up and stuffs it into the trash can.

When he turns back towards Draco the blond is staring at him, is actually looking at his clothes.

“You want me to dress like… _that_ …?” He gestures towards the tear over Harry’s knee, the dirty converse he has on, his faded shirt.

“Not exactly like me – just less…” Harry points at the black robe, the pressed pants Draco wore, “…less wizard nobility.”

A smile stretches across pale skin, wide and causes Harry to feel a flash of embarrassment. “Nobility? I like that.”

“Shut it – let’s just go find something standard for you to wear.”

“I’m anything but standard.” Draco’s words are met with a roll of green eyes. Harry doesn’t comment any further, instead opts to suggest ditching the robe.

“It’s not like we need it.” He adds, “We need to blend in with the muggles.”

Draco gives a small indignant huff, clearly attached to the object. “And what if we need to blend in with the wizards?”

“We’re not going to.” Harry crosses his arms over his chest, “We’ve been gone almost a week, I’m pretty certain out faces are plastered over every wall on every corner.” To his surprise Draco shrugs the robe off, drapes it over his arm. He’s still dressed too proper, carries himself in such a way that demands attention and Harry knows that even without the robes they stick out.

“I hope you know I’m not going to be wearing anything… like what you have.” The blond gives Harry a good look, doesn’t want to be given anything remotely similar to a hand me down.

“Yeah, okay – let’s just go find a shop.”

-

“I don’t.” Harry starts, words catching on his tongue. He has to reach up and run a hand over his face, has the urge to pull at his hair. “Why do you feel the need to wear your house colors even now?” He manages, green eyes flicking away from the taller male before him.

Draco’s hands are fiddling with the silver studded belt on his hips, fastening the front. He gives a cheeky smile at Harry as he steps in front of the mirror. The two are standing outside of a dressing room in a nearly deserted department store. “I’m proud of the colors of my house – _some_ of us are at least.”

Harry makes a small noise, decides to look past the dark green of Draco’s shirt, the silver belt. “You at least look our age now.” He half wants to tell the blond to get another pair of pants, that the skinny black jeans might be a bit too much.

“Excuse me, I’d like you to know that I always look my age.”

“No you git, you looked like an old man before.”

Draco snorts, but there’s a slight upturn of lips, amusement showing on his face. “Well at least I don’t look like a hobo.”

Harry rolls his eyes, hands fidgeting with the robe in his hands. “Uh-hunh, but you still asked this _hobo_ to run off with you in the middle of the night.” He’s purposefully not looking at Draco when he says this, doesn’t catch the faint color blossoming on pale skin.

“It was _not_ the middle of the night.” Draco snatches the robe from Harry’s hands, pulls the wand out and looks towards where the shop clerk is. “Let’s just get going.” Before he can move his vision is suddenly obscured by black fabric.

“We’re going to pay for the clothes properly. And your hair is too noticeable so you should wear this too.” Harry tugs the fabric back, watches as clear eyes come into view. He’s standing in front of Draco now, a lopsided smile on his face. “If we go around altering the memories of everyone we meet the ministry will notice.”

Draco swats Harry’s hands away from his face, starts to fix his hair up beneath the hat. “So you got muggle money then?”

“Loads of it.” The grin stretches farther across his face, “I exchange money at the end of the school term for the summer each year. I haven’t used it since… ever.”

“So… until you run out of money I can’t alter memories?” Draco gives a small dejected sigh, is given a swat to his arm.

“Don’t sound so put out, Malfoy.”

“Oh but I am.”

“You can alter memories later. Just not right now.” Harry turns at this, tan fingers curling around the others wrist. “The less crimes we commit the better.” He’s dragging Draco towards the registers, continues his lecture, “When summer ends it’ll be better to have less accusations against us. Less of a reason to assign some sort of punishment. After all we’ve really done nothing wrong, just… disappeared.”

“You sound like Granger.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” The two stop before the elderly woman behind the counter, someone who reminds Harry of a grandma whose working just to pass the time.

“I’d like to buy… this.” He gestures towards Draco, the clothes he’s wearing and the woman gives a laugh.

“Honey, the boys aren’t for sale.”

Draco snorts, has to bite back a laugh. He looks over at Harry, amused with the look on his face. “ _I’m_ not for sale _Potter_.” He draws out the others name, likes the look being shot at him, irritated.

The woman gives a small laugh, entertained. “Just give me the tags and I’ll ring everything up.”

Harry reaches for the tag hanging from the back of Draco’s shirt, gives a quick tug to pluck it off. He moves to do the same with the one on the belt, has his hand slapped. “Watch where your hands are going.” The small color on pale skin is all too noticeable and catches Harry off guard, leaves him staring for a moment longer then he knows he should.

He turns back towards the woman and pulls a small wad of cash from his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've only ever met sassy old grandma's working in shops in the middle of the day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on the timeline for each chapter is going to be jumpy, don’t assume each chapter is the following day to the previous one, it could very well be two days or even a week later. :) This is around the third week in July give or take some days.

There’s exhaustion creeping in on him, an unsettling sensation that he might fall asleep at any moment. Harry forces his eyes to stay open, stares out into the dimly lit field, the tall over grown grass swaying lightly in the summer breeze. He sags a bit farther onto the ground, can feel the bark of the tree scratching at his back and pressing in through the thin fabric of his shirt. It’s strangely quiet, the soft sound of crickets barely present, lulling him back into a half awake state.

His head tilts to the side, green eyes blinking slowly and Harry has a stray thought about how long Draco will be gone. There’s a thin road nearby, on the other side of the vast field, had been the direction the blond had gone in. A small sigh, dejected almost, spills out and Harry has to reach up and tug at his hair to keep his eyes open against the setting sun.

He hasn’t slept right since… ((ever))

There’s the sound of a branch snapping and Harry can’t remember when his eyes fell back shut. He’s awake with in an instant, is about to take off running when he notices the thin form before him. Draco looks mildly irritated, wand tucked in the front pocket of his jeans. He gives one look at Harry, at the position he’s in and presses his lips together.

“You don’t sleep in any of the room’s we get, yet you sleep under a tree?”

Green eyes stare back, and a small smile stretches across Harry’s face, sheepish. “Apparently so.” He isn’t sure what to make of the tone Draco had used, thinks it’s somewhere between amused and disbelieving.

“Come on, ‘Greg Goyle’ has rented us a room.” The blond plucks the wand from his pocket and reaches for the backpack sitting at Harry’s feet. “Even signed the registry and everything.” He gives a light tap to black hair with the handle of the wand, “The faster you get up the faster you can go to sleep.” Another tap and Harry takes the wand.

He pushes himself up from the foot of the tree, rubs the foliage from the back of his pants. “This is his first place right?” The wand is tucked into his pocket and out of sight. They’ve taken to sharing it, passing it back and forth during the day. Neither seem to mind when the other holds it, and Harry is silently thankful that they haven’t argued yet. He knows that it’s only a matter of time, that the blond is still in some kind of surreal shock.

Draco slings the backpack over his shoulder, looks every bit the sixteen year-old that he is. He reminds Harry of some of the students he saw back when he attended muggle schools, the ones that always seemed too cool to deal with him or Dudley’s harassing behavior.

“I figure we can use names about three times before the Ministry takes note.”

Harry nods, tries counting the names they’ve already used.

Vincent Crabbe, Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe, and Neville Longbottom.

He’s counting on his fingers as they trek through the tall grass back towards the small road. “We’ve only used Crabbe’s name twice, right?”

“No, I think it’s three times already.” Draco glances over at Harry, nudges him with his elbow. “Don’t worry about it so much. I know their families like to travel during holidays.”

“I was just trying to figure out what day it is.” Harry thinks about using the wand to tell him the date, figures it’ll be best once inside the motel room. He notices silver eyes looking at him, can see the curiosity lingering in them. Draco wants to ask him something, yet is holding himself back from doing so.

“If you want to know something – you can ask.”

The blond adjusts his hold on the strap of the backpack, makes a small sound as they near the thin road. His lips are pressed together tightly, brow furrowed. Harry doesn’t push, has realized over the past few days – _weeks_ – however long they’ve been together, that Draco isn’t as forthcoming with his thoughts as he had originally thought. It’s almost unsettling how little he speaks his mind, how different he is from school. Harry tries not to dwell on the thought, doesn’t want to contemplate on what it means.

“I was wondering if you wanted to know the date because you were looking forward to going back home.”

Harry’s head jerks to the side and he gives Draco a surprised look, tries to keep his lips from curling back in disgust. “I’d rather not be there.” He answers truthfully, albeit a slightly flat tone. “That place is anything but a welcoming home.” The two trek through the field and Harry is more than a little pleased to reach the side of the road, to walk through something that isn’t grass up to his knees.

“A summer with you is better than one with Dudley.”

“Who’s that?”

A small pause and Harry stops walking, is left staring at Draco’s back as he continues on down the road. He isn’t sure what to make of the sensation in his chest, the realization that Draco really doesn’t _know_ anything about him - aside from what’s been printed in the Daily Prophet.

Or what the students at Hogwarts have gossiped about.

“Dudley is my cousin.” A few hurried steps and they’re walking beside each other again. “He’s a muggle like my aunt and uncle – all of them are terrified of magic. They call me a freak almost daily.”

“Well you are.” There’s silver eyes pointed at Harry again, at the frown forming on his face. The tanned male opens his mouth to retort but then Draco is giving a small smirk, pokes at his forehead. “Freak.”

“Still the freak who’s…” The words trail off as Harry realizes what he’s about to say, has stopped himself from thinking about it over and over again for days now. It’s been the last thing on his mind when he falls asleep each night, the first thing he thinks about in the morning. The barely there thoughts leave a tight sensation in his chest, leave him feeling like he can’t breathe right.

“Who’s what?” Draco’s voice is calm yet it holds the same tone that Harry remembers from school.

He realizes now that it’s guarded sounded.

“Who’s run away with you.” The words are almost breathless sounding and Harry tries to not think about the sensation in his chest.

Or the barely there color on the back of Draco’s neck.

There’s silence that falls between them, something the tanned male tries to ignore. He keeps his eyes focused on his feet as they walk along the road, forces his thoughts to the far corners of his mind. The twilight that settles around them is pressing and yet brings with it a warm glow, a lingering heat that Harry tries to tell himself is the reason his face feels hot. Slow steps and he brings himself to a halt, reaches up and pushes dark strands of hair from his eyes.

“I wanted to know the date because of my birthday.”

Draco stops and looks back at him. His mouth is slightly open and there’s clear surprise showing on his face. The pink is still there, muted by the fading light, a color that Harry thinks is amusing sitting high on his cheekbones.

“I’m… going to assume you don’t know?”

“No, I don’t know your birthday.”

They stand there staring at each other and Draco realizes now of all times that he’s grown taller. He can see clear over Harry’s head, has wondered how he didn’t realize this that first night.

“Do you want to?” A step forward and Harry is uncertain, feels like he’s treading on uncharted grounds.

“June fifth.”

“What?”

“It’s mine.” Draco clears his throat and adjusts his stance, straightens his back. “Information exchange, it feels right.”

“Oh.” Harry pauses, feels like he’s lost his thought process in the few steps he took. “You don’t have to tell me anything just to learn something about me.” The tightness in his chest is back, accompanied with a jittery sensation in his limbs. “You can always ask.”

“When is your birthday?”

A smile stretches across Harry’s face, “The 31st of July.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurricane Irma got me fucked up and just yeah, I live in an affected area of Florida. I myself am good and my home is fine but the the state in general is not and my county has 300,000 power outages.
> 
> Oh I am also in need of a Beta, please contact my Tumblr (Lafyel) if you are interested!

Harry jerks awake at the soft patter of rain. His eyes are wide as he stares up at the darkened ceiling, chest heaving as he pushes himself up. The rooms silent save for the soft sound of Draco as he sleeps. It’s almost unsettling, and Harry places his hand over his mouth to try and quiet himself, to lessen his harsh breathing. He can’t quite remember what had woken him, can’t recall the dream – **nightmare** – he’d been having.

He presses his palms to his eyes, leans forward and rests his elbows against his knees. The blankets are tangled up around his legs, hair a royal mess, sticking up in all directions. Harry tries to calm himself, forces himself to breathe in slow and hold the air in his lungs. He can’t seem to stop the shaking of his hands, grabs at the bedding in a tight fist before letting it go.

There’s restless energy, the need to get up and move filling him.

A quick glance to the second bed lets him know that Draco is still asleep, blond hair spread out on the pillow. Harry slides out of bed on what feels like numb legs, moves to the backpack sitting atop a dresser in the room. He pulls his clothes out, and gives the shirt a small shake to lessen the wrinkles, a quick sniff of the fabric. The scent doesn’t seem bad, nothing strong or like body odor and Harry doesn’t think he needs to use a cleaning charm just yet.

With a quick glance over at the other, he pulls his pajamas off, dresses quietly in the dark room.

The sound of rain is still quite loud, distinct, and it draws the tanned male towards the door to the motel room.  He steps out into the hall, closes the door behind himself quietly. The motel they’re at is small and shady looking, muggle oriented. Harry has seen this kind before in movies, specifically horror films where characters die.

He doesn’t understand why he feels comforted in such a place.

The overhang covering the hall way blocks the rain from reaching the side of the building, is dimly lit. The neon sign looms bright and ominous through the rain, flickers every now and then. Harry leans back against the wall, slides down to sit just below the window. He crosses his legs and stares out at the night sky, at the rain as it falls.

-

Harry isn’t sure how long he’s been sitting outside, how long the rain will last. The sky doesn’t change and the darkness still hangs around him, pressing. He doesn’t know what time it is, or even the date for that matter. He finds that with each passing day he cares less and less, doesn’t understand the slowly building sense of dread inside of him.

The door to the room flings open beside him, causes Harry to jerk back in surprise. Draco emerges in rumpled clothes and blond hair a mess – a far cry from his usual appearance. The beanie he’s been wearing for days on end is missing and Harry can’t bring himself to look away from the pale strands of hair. Clear eyes turn and look down at him, a peculiar mix of emotions shining through.

“…Hey…” The tanned male starts, words quiet.

He wonders when it was that he started taking notice of Draco’s eyes, of the way he stares back at him.

Draco makes a small sound in response, shuts the door and drops down beside Harry. He leans back against the wall and closes his eyes as he crosses his legs, lets their knees brush one another. The cement is cold and harsh, damp in places that the rain has touched.

Green eyes turn back towards the night sky, stare off at the flickering neon sign. The rain reminds him of the first night, leaves a swell of anxiety rising up inside of him. Words form on the back of his tongue, swirl about in his mind and yet Harry keeps his mouth shut. He presses his lips together tightly, can feel Draco’s presence beside him.

“I woke up and you were gone.”

The barely there words are almost lost amongst the rain.

 Draco shifts, reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair. He combs the strands down as best he can, gives a small shake of the head. “I thought you…”

“Don’t.” Harry speaks before he can stop himself, doesn’t like the way the other sounds. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

“I thought you left.”

“I wouldn’t just ditch you like that.”

Silence, broken only by the soft patter of rain.

Harry closes his eyes, can feel the exhaustion starting to seep in. He wonders if he could go back to sleep now, wonders if he’ll wake up again from another dream. There’s vague thoughts starting to fill his mind, small bits of memories running through him. He thinks of the first night, of the way Draco sounded, of the look he was given when they ate in the alley, of the small hints of smiles he’s seen.

Realization dawns on him and he pulls his eyes open, vision hazy from having left his glasses in the room.

“You didn’t think I’d say yes back then.”

“What?” Draco’s voice has a low tone to it, shows just how tired he still is.

“I keep thinking about it – when you showed up at my uncles. The way you sounded – it was almost cynical.” Harry turns, shifts so that he’s facing the blond more than the rain. “Why did you…” He trails off, gestures around them, between them. “Want to do this? Why me?”

Draco gives him a cold stare, lips pressed tight. “Why did you say yes?”

Harry makes a small frustrated sound, is more awake now than ever. He leans forward just a bit, places his hand on his knee as he does so. “Why do you insist on that?”

“Because it’s fair.”

“I just want to understand – this.” Another gesture and Draco looks away, keeps his eyes pointed away from Harry.

“I want to understand as well.” Cool words and Harry can almost _feel_ Draco shutting him out.

The tone is almost too close to what was used most often at Hogwarts, when he was being mocked and picked on.

“No – I’m not letting you do this. Don’t shut me out when I’m just trying learn about you.” There’s heat filling Harry’s chest, spreading out to his limbs. He knows his response, has thought about it ever since he was first asked.

He doesn’t think this is the right time to share his thoughts, doesn’t think he should give up that information just yet.

“You can ask anything else, I _might_ answer.” Those silver eyes turn back and Harry can see that they’ve changed to a storm with something fierce lying beneath the surface. “You know my stance on sharing information.”

The tanned male makes a frustrated sound, feels like hitting his head against the wall. He doesn’t understand how Draco can go from being _scared_ that he left, to shutting him out completely. “Were you afraid that I left? When you woke up just now.”

Draco doesn’t respond, keeps his mouth shut and jaw locked, eyes fixed on some distant point. There’s a flash in the sky, a low rumble and Harry fights the urge to turn and look. He wants to focus all of his attention on the other right now, wants to show him how important it is that they speak honestly to one another.

“If you were… that’s – ”

“That’s what?” The blond snaps, turns and finally looks at him. “Amusing? Funny? That I looked foolish just now?”

“No you _prick_ – it’s fucking nice. I like knowing that you care.” ( _About me…_ ) Harry pushes himself up and slips back into the motel room. He snaps the door shut behind himself, uncaring about making too much noise. There’s a brief moment when he thinks about how he should have just walked down the hall, had left the area for a while.

The idea of making Draco anxious is strangely appealing and Harry drops himself down onto his bed. He presses his face against the pillow and lets out a huff of irritation. He feels a weird amount of adrenaline filling him with warmth and he’s far too awake now, too worked up on –

_Was that even an argument?_

It fails in comparison to some of the spats they’ve had at school, the fights Draco has always antagonized him into. Harry rolls onto his side, points his back to the door and clutches the extra pillow from the bed. He doesn’t want to acknowledge how he feels like he’s pouting, how despite everything, he still has no desire to return to the Dursley’s – or even go to the Weasley’s.

A slow breath in to calm himself and Harry focuses in on the sound of rain, the low distant rumble of the sky.

The door to the room opens quietly, and shuts just the same.

Draco stands beside it in the peculiar silence, doesn’t venture farther into the room. His presence feels heavy to Harry, demanding his attention and it takes everything in him to not turn and look. He wants to see the expression the other has, wants to see what kind of emotions are showing in those all too clear eyes.

“Potter.”

“What?”

“I was – _worried_ – you’d left.” They won’t use the word scared, not since it was used in their second year, not since it became a mocking term.

Harry rolls onto his back, stares up at the hazy dark ceiling. He doesn’t know what to make of the feeling inside of him, hasn’t been able to place it to words for a few days now.

“I’m not going to leave without saying anything to you.”

He thinks he should be able to name the emotion filling him before he tells Draco why he said yes that first night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys are combative, and Harry over thinks things

In the bright sun, the sweltering heat of a bustling city, Harry catches the eye of a middle aged woman as he walks past a shop front. He doesn’t linger on her and the way she looks at him, doesn’t scrutinize the way her clothes don’t _quite_ fit in with those around her. He turns his attention back to the street, to Draco a few paces ahead of him. Not for the first time he’s wondering how the wizarding world is getting on, wondering what news the prophet has dished out.

If they’ve caught on to his absence…

There’s a small voice in the back of his mind that tells him he should contact his friends, tell them that he wasn’t kidnapped or anything of the sort. As if hearing his thoughts Draco turns back to look at him, slows his steps so that they’re walking side by side again. They haven’t spoken much since they set out that morning, from a small motel located on the outskirts of the city. Harry’s money is running low and he thinks they only have enough for a few more nights.

There’s anxiety slowly forming in the pit of his stomach, a weird bout of eagerness filling in his chest.

“I want to read the daily prophet.” Harry steps out of the way of a woman on her phone, bumps against Draco’s arm in his movements. Cool eyes turn and stare after the retreating figure for a hair longer than is necessary.

“I don’t see the point in reading that garbage.” There’s a slight haughtiness to Draco’s voice, a distaste for something Harry can’t quite figure out.

“I want to at least know what’s been going on.” The tanned male reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair, can feel just a hint of dampness there. The heat is starting to get to him and when he looks over, actually looks at the blond’s face, he can see the light color there.

“I’m sure it’s nothing of importance.” Draco’s words are cool, a stark contrast to the warmth of the city, the flush sitting high on his cheeks.

“To you it might not be, but I like being informed.” Harry replies in a bit of a snap, quickens his pace down the street. He balls his hands into small fists just to give himself something to grasp onto, something to keep himself grounded. The bundle of nerves inside of him is humming, fluttering through him and he feels like they should get off the street, should move somewhere less crowded.

“Potter,” Draco calls, sounds almost exasperated, “Slow down.”

“Why?” Harry turns and does his best to not let his distaste show on his face. He watches as the black cap is pulled off, as fingers run through pale strands. They look damp and he can only imagine how warm the hat must have felt.

“It’s too hot to go running after you.” Draco moves the backpack to one shoulder, opens a pocket and stuffs the hat inside. His words are strangely calm and it does nothing but irritate Harry more, to increase the anxious feeling in his chest.

“Then don’t.” He snaps, can feel a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck. The heat is getting to him, has him feeling brash. A sharp turn and Harry is hurrying off down the crowded street, bumping past people in his wake. The faster he moves the tighter his chest feels, the faster his hearts pounding.  He can’t shake the sensation of static in the air, has a brief memory from his childhood, of shrinking sweaters and hair growing back overnight.

A sudden tight grip on his arm has Harry jerking and pulling back. The color on Draco’s face has grown more prominent and his hair is beginning to stick to his forehead. The grip tightens against him, squeezing his forearm. Green eyes are vibrant as they run over Draco’s hand, on the contrast of pale fingers squeezing tan skin. His attention flicks towards the others face, lips curling into a sneer mocking the ones he remembers from school.

“Let. Go.” Low and hissed words and Harry gives a pull at his arm.

Fingers tighten and he fights the urge to wince.

“Malfoy.”

“Why are you running away from me?”

There’s a storminess to the usually clear eyes, an unkempt look to always pristine hair and Harry’s hit with a wave of uncertainty. His stomach twists, clenches and he gives another pull to his arm. The grip tightens even more and his lips part, a numbness starting to settle in on his hand.

“Ironic word choice isn’t it?” Harry’s snarky reply is met with a flash of darker grey eyes, a hint of something he can’t quite make out on Draco’s face. “We’ve already run away, what difference does it make if it’s you or the entire wizarding world?” He reaches up and grabs at pale skin, nails digging into the hand gripping his arm.

“Potter, seriously calm down.” Draco’s words are almost pleading and he makes a grab for Harry’s other hand.

“I _am_ calm!” The static sensation is there, humming through Harry yet he can’t seem to focus on it. He can’t seem to focus on anything but the twisting sensation in his gut. The urge to move, to get off the streets is there in full force. He jerks his free hand away from Draco, makes another pull for his other and succeeds in yanking the blond with the movement. “Bloody let go of my ARM!”

“Not until you tell me the fuck is wrong!”

They’re fighting, squabbling in the street, blocking pedestrians trying to get past them. Harry pulls his arm again, bumps a person behind him. Words are snapped out yet neither of the two pay the muggle any attention. Draco makes another grab for Harry’s free hand, is punched in the gut in return.

“Fucking-twat!” Garbled words are wheezed out, and the blond loosens his grip on Harry for a second. There’s a murmur around then, pedestrians stopping to watch, slowing down as they notice the argument.

“Prat!” Harry hisses back, claws at Draco’s wrist in an attempt to free his hand. His arm is grabbed, grip on his wrist bruising.

“What is your fucking problem?” Draco’s eyes are the color of a tempest and he gives Harry a shake, watches as glasses slip down his nose from the sweat on his face.

“You!” Harry shoves back despite having his arms in a tight grip. “You’re always the fucking problem! You pretentious fucking arse!” His eyes flick off to the onlookers, heart hammering in his chest. He’s breathing heavily, gasping in mouthfuls of air. The buzzing is growing stronger, leaving him tingling and before he can stop himself, before he realizes what he’s done there’s sparks flaring up. An electric buzz, a static pop and a sign hanging above the two creaks as it drops off from the side of the building, hangs loosely above them.

Wide green eyes catch a glimpse of a people hurrying down the street.

A sudden inhale of air, a hiccupping sound and there’s more electric sparks going off above them. A sharp boom from a tall power line flares up, showers electricity down on the street as the pedestrians shriek and start running. Harry’s sucking in large mouthfuls of air, heart hammering against his chest. He feels nauseas and on the verge of dizzy.

He notices in the distance, the woman he saw from a shop window fighting the crowd to get towards them.

Draco gives him a sudden shake, tries to get his eyes focused back on him. “Potter – _Fuck_ – _Harry!_ You have to control it, your magic!”

“We have to run.” Soft words and Harry grabs at the front of Draco’s shirt, pulls him forward as he turns. The tight grip on his arms is dropped as the two take off down the panic stricken street. The sirens are faint and yet blaringly loud in Harry’s ears. He feels like his peripheral vision is swimming, bright lights and colors mixing in a swirl.

He turns and grips Draco’s arm so as to not lose him in the crowd.

“That woman – That woman saw!” Another hiccupping breath and Harry is shoved to the side, Draco pushing him towards an alley and off the street.

“Fucking move Potter, stop gawking and just _move!_ ” Hissed words and Harry finds himself being shoved and directed down narrow alleys, behind tall buildings and past large dumpsters. He stumbles, glasses slipping down his nose and chest heaving. The dizzying sensation creeps up his back, leaves his neck and the back of his head strangely warm with static.

“Stop-stop have to…” He leans against a wall, sucks in a shuttering breath.

The faint sounds of sirens still fill the air, leave his ears ringing.

“I feel sick.” Harry slides down into a crouched position, tilts his head back and breathes in sharply.

“No shit – you were breathing like a bloody lunatic.” Draco moves to stand before him, crouches down. He looks over the others face, lips pressed together tightly. “Why were you freaking out? You _never_ freak out.”

A shake of the head and Harry closes his eyes, leans heavily against the brick wall behind him. “That woman I saw, she was a witch. I just know it. We were almost caught.”

“You bloody flinging magic left and right was what attracted attention.” A heaved sigh and Draco moves to lean against the building beside Harry. He closes his eyes, blond hair a mess and face tinged red from exhaustion and heat.

“I couldn’t help it.”

“I’ve gathered that.”

“…”

The sound of sirens has faded and the alley has grown eerily quiet. Harry’s breathing is leveling out and the colors starting to return to his face. The backpack is placed between them, Draco’s shoulders slumping as he fully sits on the cement. He tilts his head back, looks up at the bright blue sky above.

“Have you always done little shit like that? Unrestrained magic?”

“…before Hogwarts – yeah.” Harry reaches up and runs his fingers through messy black hair, gives a light tug. He can feel the ache on his arm and wrist, can see the redness there.

“Does it hurt?”

A glance over and there’s a hint of surprise lingering in green eyes. Draco is still looking up at the sky, eyes fixed on the brilliant blue. Harry thinks he can see the shade reflected in his eyes, finds himself staring openly.

“I didn’t mean to – _that_ – you just – ”

“It’s fine – ”

“I never think things through with you, I always end up acting like a prick.”

“Malfoy.”

“You’re always getting under my skin and I end up lashing out.”

“ _Malfoy_.”

“I can’t really help it. But you did punch me, I should have just let go – ”

“For fucks sake!” Harry turns and gives Draco a shove, just harsh enough to get him to stop talking. “I’m glad you didn’t let go. I don’t know where I’d have gone.” There’s a weak smile on his face, something that looks almost goofy with the way his hair is sticking up. “Don’t worry about it – seriously, we always fight. You say shit about my friends, and instead of ignoring it I say something back.”

Draco stares at Harry, hand on the ground supporting himself from the sudden push. He opens his mouth to speak, yet nothing comes out, lips curving up into a grin that matches Harry’s.  A laugh slips out and he shakes his head, blond hair a mess from the heat.

“Merlin, I feel like I’m bloody ten when I’m with you.”

“Might as well be with this lunacy.” The tanned male leans back against the wall, runs his hands over his face. “I can’t believe I broke the sign and blew up the transformer.”

“Blew up the what?”

Harry laughs and shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter, muggle stuff. We should go find a place to stay for the night.”

“Fine and I call first shower, there aren’t enough bloody cleaning charms in the world to help me right now.” Draco pushes himself up from the ground, fingers running through his hair with a frown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still on the hunt for a beta as well


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was so much fun to write

 They’ll say you could do anything

(( _They’ll say that I was clever_ ))

**If we go down - then we go down together**

(( _We’ll get away with everything_ ))

Let’s show them we are **_better_**

Draco can’t stop staring at the red blotchy marks on Harry’s arms. He finds his eyes fixated on the discoloration, finds that it forms a tightness in his throat that he can’t seem to push aside. He’s unnerved at how Harry seems so nonchalant, how he doesn’t hide the bruises the next day or even the day after that. _(They’re purple and dark blue, a hint of yellow and you did that you sick fuck!)_ He swallows around the lump that makes it hard to breathe, the gnawing sensation that he should address the splotches.

Clear eyes are forced away from the dark tinged marks, manage to focus in on black hair and bright green eyes.

“…you weren’t listening.” Not a question, a simple statement and Draco doesn’t understand how the person before him doesn’t seem upset.

“No, I was just thinking.”

“I’m surprised, the last few days you seem to have nothing going on in that head of yours.” It’s a polite jab, a teasing note to the sentence and Draco wonders if Harry speaks to Weasley like this. He doesn’t recall having ever witnessed it himself, had always thought Gryffindor’s were typically friendly towards one another. None of the sneering insults, playful teasing or witty comments like he’s used to.

Harry’s looking at him again, lips forming a frown and it’s unnerving, leaves Draco restless feeling.

He looks away, across the street as they make their way down an empty road. It’s early and the sun is still rising, casting long shadows from the buildings. The shops around them are opening, terraces being set up. Harry gives a jab to Draco’s side, is forcing his attention onto himself. “I asked you where we were headed.”

Clear eyes turn and focus in on tan skin and even darker hair.

They flick down to the discoloration on Harry’s wrist as he holds the backpack. “South.” Draco responds with strained words and forces himself to look forward, to ignore the clawing sensation in his gut. He knows what he needs to say, knows why the marks bother him so much.

“South isn’t exactly descriptive. You seem to have an idea where we’re headed.”

His lips press together in a tight line and Harry gives him another shove. Draco takes a step to the side to maintain his balance but he lets out a small laugh, shakes his head. “Fine.” He relents, “We’re in Hastings. We’re headed south because it seemed like a good idea.”

“Hastings?”

“The beaches here are supposed to be nice in the summer.”

The silence that falls between them is only broken by the sounds of the city waking, the soft roar of cars driving past, of conversations happening in the distance. Draco doesn’t dare look over at Harry, doesn’t want to let his eyes drop to the bruises.

He hates how after all the bickering and fighting they’ve had over the years, that just a couple of marks can unnerve him so. Hell, Weasley had given him a good throttling once when they were just starting out at Hogwarts. Draco can remember feeling something akin to proud at having bruised the obnoxious redhead.

And yet –

“The beach sounds cool and all, but won’t you get sun burnt?” Harry’s words break his thoughts and Draco looks over, focuses on green eyes.

A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “Charms, Potter.”

-

A stolen umbrella, the scent of salt water in the air, a gentle breeze and Draco sits in the shade. He has his pant legs rolled up, toes dug into the sand. There’s a faint redness to his face, color sitting high on his cheeks, dusting over his nose. Blond hair pushed back from the breeze, black cap tucked safely into the backpack sitting beside him.

He watches Harry poking around in the sand, digging out seashells and letting the waves wash up over his feet.

Draco thinks he can visibly see the tan darkening, a golden hue that fades up Harry’s arms. He watches the wind distort and ruffle the black strands of hair, fingers reaching up and pushing them aside. Harry seems oddly focused on his task at hand, digging around in the sand. Draco looks down at his own feet, at the way the sand clings to them.

He wiggles his toes, presses his teeth into his lower lip and fights down the unsettling sensation in his gut.

A shadow looms over him and clear eyes look up, blink past the bright sun.

“I don’t think the charms are working for you.” Harry plops down beside Draco, knees pulled up. He’s holding a shell in his hand, fingers running over the smooth surface. “You’re looking a little pink.”

“I’m fine.” Draco’s lips press together tightly and he tries to hold back the small huff of indignation. He can feel the tightness on his face, the beginnings of a sunburn. “You having fun?” A push at changing the conversation, the desire to talk about something – anything that isn’t him.

Harry runs his fingers over the shell again, all traces of sand having been brushed off. He doesn’t respond, keeps his eyes pointed down at the white object. “You… aren’t saying something again.”

“I don’t say a lot of things.” Draco can almost _feel_ Harry roll his eyes.

He glances over, eyes settling on the dark blotches on tan skin.

His stomach twists, the knot in his throat tightens and he looks away, lips pressed tight. Draco feels sick, nauseated and he closes his eyes, hangs his head for a second. He opts to lean back, lie in the sand beneath the beach umbrella. The sensation of vertigo is strong, leaves him feeling like he’s spinning, like the earth is twisting beneath him.

A small shift of the sand, a barely there weight pressed against Draco’s chest, and he opens his eyes. The umbrella blocks his view of the bright blue sky, of fluffy clouds and he pushes himself up onto his elbows.

The shell’s sitting on his chest.

Draco picks it up, runs his fingers over the smooth texture, worn away by the sand and ocean. He stares at it, at Harry as he’s facing the ocean a foot away, arms stretching in the breeze. He watches as a strip of tan skin appears when the other reaches up, watches the way dark strands of hair tangle and stick up in impossible directions.

He stares at the dark bruises and the words spill out.

“Why are you still here with me?”

Harry turns mid-stretch, glasses perched on his nose, bits of sand in his hair. He looks contemplative, curious, like he’s choosing his words or searching for the right thing to say.  The knot in Draco’s stomach tightens, fills his throat at he looks away, squints off into the distance, at muggles lying in the sun.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

The glare Draco shoots at Harry is deadly, challenging.

“You have to talk to me if you want a better response.” Harry drops down in the sand again, beneath the umbrella, back straight and legs crossed. He places his hands on his ankles, leans forward and Draco has the urge to lean back, to flee the situation.

“We are talking.” His words sound guarded even to his own ears.

Harry rolls his eyes and it’s a dramatic gesture, complete with an exasperated sigh. He acts as if they’ve had this conversation numerous times already. “No, I mean you have to tell me what’s bothering you.”

Draco’s eyes shoot down to the bruises and then dart away. His grip on the seashell tightens, elbows digging into the soft sand. Harry doesn’t push the conversation, doesn’t comment about where he sees Draco look. He sits there, posture rigid and intent looking, and it leaves the blond feeling irritated.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” There’s a glint in Harry’s eyes, amusement and it adds fuel to the fire.

“Fucking staring at me like that.”

“You asked me why I’m still here, I’m waiting to hear what else you have to say.”

Draco feels like punching Harry, shoving him into the sand and kicking him. He feels irritated, brash and flicks the seashell at the other male. “Shut up.” He knows his irritation is evident in his voice, knows that his emotions are showing all too clearly.

He was never good at hiding them, not when –

“Hey!” Harry snaps back, makes to grab the shell before he loses it in the sand. “I’m just trying to talk to you.”

“I don’t feel like talking.” Draco drops back onto the sand, glares up at the umbrella. He tries to not let his satisfaction at seeing Harry annoyed show on his face, tries to keep his lips from twitching up in the want to smile.

“If you didn’t feel like talking you wouldn’t have asked that.”

“Like you have any clue what I want.” Cold words and Draco can’t stop his brows from creasing, can’t stop his distaste from showing. He hates being this open, hates how easily Harry gets to him.

“You’re right – _I don’t_ – because you don’t talk to me you prick!” The shell is tossed, smacks against the side of Draco’s head and he grabs at it.

“You’re such a fucking twat!” He tosses the shell out towards the ocean, watches as it lands somewhere in the sand before the waves. “Why do you have to fucking meddle in everything?!”

“Why can’t you just fucking say what’s on your mind?” Harry shoves at Draco, pushing him into the sand. He’s pushed back, hit on the shoulder and the two start fighting, insults slinging back and forth. Draco’s hair is pulled and Harry’s glasses are knocked off, a hand making to shove his face back. A knee’s shoved between the two, a punch landing and the umbrella’s knocked over.

“Stop being such a prat!” Harry snaps, pulls hard at blond strands, watches as Draco’s face reddens.

“Stop fighting like a fucking girl!” A push, shove, and Draco makes to toss Harry from atop him, attempts at grabbing his arms.

“You’re the one talking shit!”

“You bloody ARSE!” Draco shoves hard, uses his height to push Harry onto his back. He presses his knee into his chest, grabs at his forearms. “Why can’t you just let it fucking be?” He gives a violent shake to Harry’s arm, bruised wrist in front of green eyes. “WHY DO YOU HAVE TO KEEP PUSHING?” Draco’s breathing heavily, red faced and blond hair a mess of sand and knots. “Why are you still here with me when we fucking do this? WHEN I DO THIS?” He smacks Harry in the face with his own hand, digs his fingers into the dark bruises.

“BECAUSE I KNOW YOU’RE SORRY FOR WHAT YOU DID!” Harry pushes, kicks Draco off of himself and pulls back, lands in the sand on his butt.

The sound of distant laughter fills the space, carried over from the sea breeze.

Draco sits where he landed, dark eyes glaring into bright green, heart hammering in his chest. “…what…?” He asks on an exhale, barely there words.

“You’re sorry, for hurting me.” Harry waves his bruised wrist in the air between them, reaches up and tugs at his hair. “I know you are.”

“How?” Draco’s given a glare, one that sends a chill down his back and makes his stomach flip.

“You keep looking at them - I can see it on your face.”

He looks away, down at the sand, at Harry’s discarded glasses. There’s hesitation before he reaches for them, brushes the sand off. Draco stands and drops them in Harry’s lap, turns to fix the umbrella. “You’re still a twat.”

He misses the smile that spreads across Harry’s face, “Prat.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perfect Places by Lorde is stuck in my head
> 
> I really love "beach bum" Draco + Harry

He’s barefoot, with pants rolled up and ankles covered in sand. The cement is warm under his feet, a rough sensation as they move along, past the shops lining the street. Draco’s blond hair feels stiff from the saltwater, shoulders tinted red like his nose and cheeks. He feels warm, a sensation that is peculiar to him, for someone who’s always had cold toes and fingers like ice.

_((Cold hands – warm heart…))_

Harry’s walking beside him, black strands of hair a wicked mess, sticking up in all directions. He’s chatting about Quidditch, about brooms and his thoughts on how they could be improved upon. Draco is only idly listening, focused in on the sights and sounds around them. He finds his eyes drifting over golden skin and flushed cheeks, amused with the way Harry’s glasses slip down his nose in the heat. A light breeze ripples past them, warm with just a hint of a coolness to it.

Draco reaches up and pushes his hair back, can feel the ache in his muscles from the movement. They’ve been sleeping on the beach, casting charms to repeal muggles, others to conceal their presence. The sand has been uncomfortable, yet the sound of the ocean is calming at night, soothing and he thinks that he could listen to it for the rest of his life.

It’s nothing like his home, nothing like the eerie silence of the Manor.

The soft crackling of a fireplace that never feels warm.

“Malfoy?” Harry’s words cut through his thoughts and clear eyes turn to meet green. He gives a questioning look, doesn’t respond in any other way. Draco can feel the corner of his lips twitch up, amused with the look of irritation on the other’s face.

“You really space out a lot.” Harry adjusts the faded blue backpack on his shoulder, slows the pace of his steps. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shoulders hunching.

“I’m just thinking.” Draco doesn’t need to look to know that he’s pouting. A beat of silence and he glances up at the blue sky, breathes in slow and easy. “And the sand made my backache.” He adds as an afterthought.

“You could have cast something to make it softer.” Harry takes a step, bumps his shoulder against Draco’s arm and it’s on the verge of playful. “But we should find a place to stay tonight, I could use a shower.”

“You’re bloody well right about that.” A light shove back and Draco looks down at his feet. He wiggles his toes, contemplates the amount of sand still clinging to his skin. Beside him he can hear Harry scoff, mock offense in his tone that leaves him smiling. “The beach is nice, different, so we can stay longer.”

_And you actually sleep through the night…_

“Naw, if we get a room then I can try and summon an owl. I still want to read the prophet.”

Draco’s expression falls and he can feel his shoulders tense. He doesn’t understand Harry’s need to read that drivel, knows that nothing good can come of it. He’s met the ones who write for the paper, has over heard them at parties, talking about how to twist things to make them more riveting. His mother always said to ignore what was being written, that publicity is publicity.

And that there’s no such thing as bad publicity for the Malfoy’s.

Draco wants to scoff at the notion of it now, after what happened at the Ministry only a few months ago. He knew his father wasn’t a good person, knew that he made some unsightly deals, owned a few _illicit_ objects… Yet coming face to face with the realization that the man really was as corrupt as the papers said – it makes his stomach twist, left him with a bitter taste in his mouth.

Left him feeling torn between standing up for his family name, their status, his _mother –_

“Malfoy…” Harry’s words jar him and he turns, shoes dropping from his hand onto the ground. A small shake of the head and he can feel his thoughts clouding his mind back up. This was meant to be a month to himself, a month where he didn’t think about how he sat on the moral ambiguity line.

“Why do you care so much about that paper?” Draco knows he sounds drained, exhausted in a way he doesn’t want Harry to know about. He leans down and rubs the remaining sand from his feet, slips them into his shoes.

“Because I want to see what’s been happening?” The words are spoken with a bit of force, a flash of irritation on the others face. “ _You_ might not care about anyone, but I want to at least make sure nothing has happened to my friends.”

The sharp drop in Draco’s chest has him feeling angry, hurt in a way that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. He turns without a word and stalks off down the street. Harry fumbles with his own shoes for a second before hurrying to catch up, lips set in a line. “Why are you doing this?” He asks in a tone that Draco doesn’t want to hear, doesn’t want to have to deal with.

“Doing what Potter? I’m walking.” It takes more effort than the blond is wanting to give, but he manages to keep his facial features set and expression disinterested.

“No – not this again. You’re ignoring something, deliberately not telling me – ”

“Shove it Potter, I don’t want to talk about your desperate need to make sure the Weasels still like you!” Venomous words and bright eyes turn a darker shade, move towards the shorter male. “If you’re so damn concerned about them, then just fucking go.” Draco turns and starts walking again, emotions seething just under the surface.

“Why are you doing this?” Harry snaps back, reaches out and grabs at the blond’s arm. He gives a good pull, tries to get him to stop walking.

“Why?” Draco yanks his arm free, keeps himself at a distance. “Why don’t you just fucking think before you speak?” There’s an ache in his chest, a swirl of emotions simmering just under the surface. He can feel them filling the back of his throat, clinging to his tongue. His jaw locks and he bites down hard, doesn’t want to open his mouth and let anything out.

“What is wrong with you?!” Harry’s words are starting to sound desperate, agitation seeping into them. “I just wanted to read the bloody paper!”

“You are the problem!” Draco snaps, is taking a step forward and looming over the shorter male. “You fucking don’t think!”

“What makes you say that?!” Harry doesn’t back down, holds his stance and a half second later the blond is turning, retreating once more. His hands are clenched at his side and he can feel the eyes of pedestrians looking at them. The trickling sensation of needing to blend in fills him and he’s taken by surprise when Harry grabs his arm.

“Stop trying to run away!”

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Draco smacks the hand away from his arm, gritting his teeth. “I fucking don’t want to get singled out again!”

“Then talk to me!” Harry’s grip on the backpack tightens.

“I told you – you fucking twat – you don’t use your head!” Hissed words and Draco doesn’t want to acknowledge the challenging look he’s being given. “You talk without thinking about shit! I don’t want you to fucking get the prophet or fucking owl your stupid friends!”

“Are you that fucking upset that I have friends? Real ones?” There’s a static charge in the air around them, a slowly building swirl of energy. Draco is reminded of the last time they fought on the street, of how Harry seemingly let his magic loose without meaning to.

“I fucking have friends too you shit – just sod-off if you don’t want to be here anymore!” Draco turns again, realizes the pedestrians are stopping to stare, a small gathering across the street. He takes two steps before his arm is grabbed again, Harry’s words lost in the rush of wind around them.

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!” Draco snaps, rips his arm from the other’s grip and shoves him back. The static in the air makes his skin prickle, his gut twisting and Harry is jumping at him in full rage. They fall to the sidewalk in a heap of limbs and fury, fists flying, backpack lying discarded on the ground.

“Fuck you too you prick!” Harry’s pulling back with his right fist, lands a blow to the blond’s shoulder. “You’re just fucking angry that I have real frie – ” He’s shoved back, the two rolling on the sidewalk. Draco pulls back and lands a solid punch against Harry’s head, just below his temple.

“FUCKING SHUT UP!” Another hit to the shorter male and he’s shoved back. “JUST FUCKING SHUT UP!”

“YOU’RE THE ONE WHO BLOODY STARTED THIS!”

“YOU WOULDN’T SHUT UP ABOUT YOUR FUCKING FRIENDS – YOU PRAT I HAVE MY OWN!” The energy sparks and the electrical wires above them sizzle. There’s a murmur of conversation around them, muggles stopping to full on stare at the two fighting and rolling around on the ground.

“CRABBE AND GOYLE ARE NOT YOUR FRIENDS – THEY FUCKING TALK SHIT ABOUT YOU!” Harry hit’s Draco somewhere near his jaw, chest heaving and body all but trembling with rage.

“THE FUCK DO YOU EVEN CARE WHO I MAKE FRIENDS WITH?” The blond reaches up, gives another good punch trying to throw the other from him. “YOU FUCKING ALREADY SAID THAT I DON’T CARE ABOUT ANYONE!” A sudden hiss from above grabs his attention, eyes flicking up at the powerlines. His heart’s hammering in his chest, adrenaline coursing through him. The realization that Harry’s full on letting his magic run rampant hits him like a wave and Draco gives a sudden push – because why not fight dirty and let his own loose.

Green eyes widen at the sudden influx of wind rushing past, the static popping of an electrical transformer catching his attention. Harry turns his eyes from Draco below him, to the crowd gathered around them

_“…kids these days…”_

_“Bad parenting I tell you…”_

_“Looks kind of like a lovers quarrel…”_

_“That’s so disgusting…”_

The distant sound of a whistle, of one of the beach patrol officers shoving their way through the crowd hit’s Draco’s ears and he moves to push Harry back. The urge to land a cheap blow fills him and he’s pulling back to do so when the other inhales sharply.

“Fuck – shit- shit shit shit shit.” Harry’s jerking back, reaching for the backpack tossed aside.

Draco glances at the officer as the man manages to break through the crowd. He feels a trickle of panic rush through him, a sensation like cold ice running down his back. Faint panicked thoughts fill his mind, and he looks at Harry, thinks that he’s going to run off into the crowd and _leave him_.

The front of his shirt is grabbed and he’s yanked forward, stares into wide green eyes and a horrified expression.

**“We have to run!”**

“What?” Draco’s head is in a daze, throbbing where he’s been punched, jaw aching. Disorientation fills him as he’s pulled to his feet, ears ringing from the loose magic still swirling around them.

“WE HAVE TO GO – NOW!” Harry pulls the temporary wand from the backpack, grabs the blond’s hand and shoves his way through the small crowd of people. Clear eyes turn and look back at the officer as he makes to grab them. A flash of light is cast over his shoulder and the man’s tossed back, the muggles letting out a shriek.

Draco sees it then.

A shop of red hair atop a balding man, a group of out of place adults running down the street towards them.

“Bloody fuck – is that?”

 **“YES - NOW RUN!”** Harry yanks on Draco’s hand, has him turning and the two take off across the street. They run as fast as their legs will let them, darting around pedestrians and displays placed out on the sidewalk. The distant shout of “ _Harry!” – “Harry what’s wrong?!”_ – follows after them, leaves the taller male feeling sick.

And then Harry’s stopping, turning and pointing the wand up at a transformer and Draco knows exactly what he intends to do.

He reaches over and puts his hand over Harry’s, can feel the power shift in the wand, increase. _“…stupefy…”_ He utters the word on an exhale, watches the flash of bright light fly up and hit the transformer. There’s a shower of electrical sparks, a booming explosion and the powerlines snap back in a sharp sizzling sound.

Smoke and fire fills the street, sudden shrieks by the muggles and Draco is yanked forward by the grip on his hand.

“We have to keep running!” Harry hisses as they dart down an alley and out of sight.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is (so far) my favorite chapter  
> Draco is really struggling with himself here

The silence is stifling and hangs heavy in the air between them. Draco’s jaw aches, a cut on his lower lip swollen and throbbing. There’s bruises on his shoulder, one on his chest and upper arm, a testament to how hard they’d been fighting. He gives a quick glance to the side, sees Harry staring up at the night sky. Draco can see the bruise on the side of his face, high on his cheek and he feels his lips twitch up at the sight of it.

At least neither of them held back.

They haven’t spoken for over a day now, nothing past quiet, uttered words of direction. Draco can tell Harry is still upset with him, agitated in a way he’s only caught glimpses of in the past. He knows what he should do, what he should _say_ , but the words never seem to come out – hang heavy in the air between them. They catch in his throat, on his tongue, and leave him feeling foolish for even trying.

Draco scowls down at the cement, the bits of trash littering the back alley.

Beside him Harry shifts, legs tucked up underneath himself, jeans covered in sand and dirt. His black hair is a wreck, hasn’t been brushed in days and it has Draco wondering about his own. He thinks they look like residents of knockturn alley, like they’re homeless –

Like the runaways they really are…

“Do you think we can move yet?” Harry’s voice cuts through the blonds thoughts, has him turning to look over at him.

“We’re speaking?” He can’t stop the mocking tone from seeping into his words, likes the roll of eyes he gets in return.

“Don’t start.”

“Start what?” Draco hates his automated reply, shakes his head after he says it. “No – that’s not what I meant.” He exhales, reaches up and tries to run his fingers through his hair, ends up tugging on the strands instead. There’s frustration filling his chest, anger aimed at himself, at his inability to say what’s going through his head.

Harry makes a small sound in response, is looking back up at the night sky. “What did you mean then?” Cool words and green eyes turn. Draco is met with a vacant expression, hates how uncaring it looks, how it makes his chest **ache** and his fingers twitch.

He looks away, back at the discarded objects around them.

“I see – ” Harry starts.

“No – you don’t.” Draco snaps, fidgets where he sits. “Fuck – _okay_ look, about before – ”

“Stop.” Harry pushes himself up from the ground, reaches for the backpack lying between the two of them. “Its fine, you don’t have to force yourself.” He’s exhausted sounding and it catches Draco off guard, dampens his sudden flare of anger. It’s a tone he’s not used to hearing.

“Let’s just get moving again.” Harry takes a couple of steps forward, stops when he realizes the other hasn’t stood up yet. He glances back and the blond is staring at the ground, expression strained. There’s words catching in his throat and sticking to his tongue, filling him up to the point that he feels like he’s drowning.

Draco reaches up and presses his palms to his eyes, can’t help but think back to when he was young, to when his mother told him to _bite his tongue_ , that _word vomit never did anyone any good_. He presses hard against his eyes, can hear Harry take a few steps closer to him. Draco locks his jaw, bites down on his teeth hard to keep himself from spilling over. It’s no use and he knows it, breathes in heavily through his nose.

“…You know…” Harry starts, words quiet and tentative, almost like he’s worried about setting Draco off. “…I just wanted to write to them, to let them know that this was my own choice.” The words cut through the faint ringing in his ears, are deafening in the silent alley.

“ **Fuck you and your fucking friends!** ” Draco snaps, hands dropping from his face. _((Oh no just shut the fuck up!))_ “All I fucking wanted was to have you to my fucking self for once and to not be a fucking Malfoy!” He’s glaring up into green eyes, watches them widen in muted shock. “Didn’t you ever once fucking consider why I didn’t want you to write to them? I know they’re good people and whatever fucking else you want to say about them –  ” The sudden heat of embarrassment washes over him, leaves his ears feeling warm and chest suddenly tight.

_((Mother always knows best – why’d I have to open my fucking mouth?))_

Draco pushes himself up from the ground and grabs the backpack from Harry. He starts off down the alley before anything can be said to him. It takes him a second to realize that there isn’t a second set of steps following him and he pauses, looks back. Harry is right where he left him, arms crossed and staring back at him, expectant.

“I’m not going anywhere until you come and talk to me.” Harry’s voice isn’t loud, but it reaches the blond, leaves him feeling like he’s been doused in ice. There’s no trace of anger in the words, only a firmness that leaves him feeling -

“About…?” Even from the distance Draco knows Harry rolled his eyes in response.

“Everything.” Harry lowers his arms and takes a couple of steps towards him. “I want you to finish what you were saying just now. What made you so angry before…” A small gesture and Draco knows what’s being said, finds it almost amusing how he understands. He wants to pretend he doesn’t, wants to play dumb and act like nothing’s wrong. Yet, too much time has passed with his only company being Harry and he knows that it won’t work.

Draco feels defeated in a way, lets his shoulders drop and the backpack to slide down his arm. He weighs his options, about telling Harry the truth, even if it’s just a part of the whole. The prospect makes the blond’s gut twist, has him feeling uncertain and jittery all at once. A glance up at the night sky and then back over at Harry and he relents. “How… How about…” Draco starts, hates how he thinks he can hear his own uncertainty in his words. “…We talk more in-depth at an inn?”

“Then tell me something now, about what you just meant.” There’s determination set in the square of Harry’s shoulders, a ferocity Draco has only ever seen on the quidditch field. “I can’t keep running around with you if you don’t talk to me. Give me something and I’ll stay, but if you can’t then I’m going to go find Mr. Weasley and the others.”

Draco pointedly keeps his face turned away while Harry speaks, has known this conversation was coming for a while now, has been dreading it since the night it rained at the motel. “What is it that you want to know most?” He asks, and it’s in a low, almost defeated tone.

“Why do you want to keep me from reading The Daily Prophet?”

The question has him all but visibly flinch, has him turning just a little bit more and looking up at the dark sky once more. The city is strangely quiet, a testament to how late it is, holds a silence that only comes from the peculiar hours after midnight. Draco shifts the backpack to one shoulder, starts digging through the pockets.

“You know – I thought you were going to just leave me there. When you looked up and saw the weasel.”

“ _Mr. Weasley._ ” Harry interjects, a harsh tone to his words.

“I don’t know what I’d have done if you just left me. They’d probably accuse me of kidnapping you or something equally wrong, given our history at school.” Draco continues to dig around inside of the bag, shuffling through the large pocket and then moving onto the smaller one on the side. “And you are right, I know my friends aren’t anything amazing – but they’re my own.” A small pause and he begins zipping the pockets back up, fingers curled around a small object in his palm. “They’re people I met without them knowing my family right away, before we were sorted into houses.”

The backpack is slung back over his shoulders, bright clear eyes turning and looking over at Harry. “As for the paper, it’s… _complicated_. I hate what they say about my family, I know my father is fucked up, but to say crap about my mum…” Draco trails off, exhales heavily. “…It’s also – I didn’t want to acknowledge how much time has passed.” _((How little time we have left…))_

“Why didn’t you just say this before?” Harry’s walking over towards the blond, determination waning at the stream of information. “I would have understood.” He sounds almost apologetic.

“If you haven’t realized it by now, I don’t do well with talking.” Draco’s fingers curl a bit tighter around the small object in his hand, eyes moving from Harry back up to the night sky. “We can – **I mean I’ll try** – talking about this more later, answering other questions you might have.”

“So long as you try.” Harry gives him a smile, and it’s lopsided but wide, his exhaustion showing through. “So where should we go from here?”

“…I really don’t know…” Draco gives a small laugh, a hollow sound. “I hadn’t planned on making it this far.” He takes a step towards Harry, and holds out his hand, hates how he has to fight his muscles to keep from shivering. “Here.”

The tanned male moves on instinct, doesn’t think twice when he moves his hand to take what’s being offered. “Let’s just find a place to hide for a couple of days – rest and…” His words trail off as Draco turns away, starts off down the alley.

“It’s not the one you spent hours digging in the sand for, but it’s something.” _((Sorry for throwing that one away…))_

Harry is left staring down at a perfect cockle shell, the two halves still connected, albeit gently. He runs his thumb over the smooth surface, mild confusion washing over him. “A seashell?” A few hurried steps and he catches up to the blond at the edge of the alley.

Bright clear eyes reflecting the moonlight turn, an uncertain smile forming on Draco’s lips.

“It’s for your birthday.” A quick glance up at the sky and he’s looking away again, off at the darkened street, at anything that isn’t Harry. “We should get moving, I’d like to shower and sleep in a bed again.” Draco adds quickly, doesn’t want to talk about what he’s just _done_. He takes a step out onto the sidewalk and misses the way Harry is grinning after him.

“You remembered my birthday.” He says, and it’s in an awed tone, holds a breathless note. “You remembered and gave me… a – ”

“Sod-off.”

“But you _remembered_.” Harry can’t help but add.

“It’s a fucking seashell, it’s nothing important.” Draco doesn’t dare look back, doesn’t want to know the expression the other has. He can already guess from the tone of his voice, from the soft chuckle he hears.

“But it is, to me.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that I spent way too long working on

It’s a soft buzzing under his skin, a warmth spreading over his chest and up his neck. Draco can feel the stupid grin on his face, can hear the sound of water running in the bathroom. The motel room smells like soap and _clean_ and something that is distinctly _Harry_. The television makes a small static sound, draws his attention towards the screen. Draco’s vision is just a little bit blurred, his eyes taking a moment longer to focus.

The shower shuts off in the background and the blond reaches for the bottle of liquor on the nightstand. His hand sways with the movement, bumps against the lamp illuminating the room. It’s that moment when Harry opens the door to the bathroom, steam rolling out around him. Clear eyes look up with hazy vision, land on tan skin and dark strands of hair that are damp.

“It’s your turn to shower.” Harry’s words carry over the noise of the television, crash upon Draco’s body. He feels his skin prickle from the others voice, from the familiarity of the sentence and he can’t stop himself from staring at dark hair.

The blond doesn’t respond, but turns his attention back to the bottle on the nightstand, disconnected thoughts swirling around in his head. He manages to curl his fingers over the neck of the bottle and leans back. He plops himself against the headboard, makes a small noise as he digs his heels into the mattress. Draco knows himself too well, knows that the second he speaks Harry will realize just how much he’s had to drink, how intoxicated he really is.

His minds spinning as he closes his eyes and tilts his head back, held up against the wall. He can hear the other moving off to his side, a tightness filling his chest. Draco tightens his grip on the bottle and lifts it to his lips, manages to take a swig without spilling any.

_((Liquid courage.))_

He swallows down the mouthful, can feel it burn in his throat, leaves his lips tingling. Glossy bright eyes turn and watch as Harry runs the towel over his hair, ruffling the dark strands. They linger just a hair too long, just enough for the other to realize he’s being stared at. Draco looks away quickly, towards the television, silently curses himself for the quick movement as his vision swims.

The bed suddenly dips near his feet and he finds Harry sitting at the edge, hair still a bit damp and blocking the television. His eyes are framed by his glasses now, perched on his nose, searching.

“What?” Draco snaps, but his words come out cracked and almost dry sounding.

The responding grin that spreads over Harry’s face makes his head _spin_.

“Shove it.” He leans back against the wall, hand lifting to pull the liquor to his mouth again. He’s stopped halfway, the amber liquid sloshing as Harry pulls the bottle back.

“You’re _pissed_.” He points out, one leg still hanging off the bed.

Draco finds himself staring at a drop of water clinging to black strands of hair. “Am not.” He counters, is suddenly amazed with the resulting laugh he receives, with the way it reverberates in his chest. “Fuck – okay maybe I am.” A push forward and he’s reaching for the bottle again.

Harry leans back, braces himself with his free hand on the bed. “Where’d this come from?” He brings the bottle up, takes a sip. Draco watches in what feels like slow motion, eyes glazed as the bottle is pressed against the other’s lips, as he swallows down a mouthful.

“Fuck I’m so pissed.” He’s dropping back, can feel the room spinning.

Harry shivers from the alcohol, goosebumps breaking out over his arms. “It’s warm.” He hisses, like the temperature personally offended him.

He missed the hint of awe lingering in the blond’s voice.

“Yeah well ya’ took forever…” Draco gestures towards the bathroom, hand rubbing over his face. He receives another laugh, real and bright and it leaves him with a tingling sensation on his skin, a peculiar warmth spreading from his chest. He knows it’s not from the alcohol, pushes back the faint and distant thought of what the sensation actually means.

“What’s the occasion?” Harry asks, and the words cut through Draco’s thoughts, force him to focus.

“No occasion.” A wave of the hand, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Just decided to drink?”

The sound of the television fills the room, leaves the space with a warm feeling, a sensation Draco can’t explain. It’s something that he can feel in his chest and he closes his eyes, makes a small sound. His thoughts are muddled, disconnected from the alcohol and he can’t stop himself, doesn’t realize he’s speaking until its too late.

“Liquid courage.” He wants to slap himself the second the words are left hanging in the air.

“Courage for what?” Harry is sitting up straighter, is leaning forward. Draco makes a small sound, a whine that he pointedly refuses to acknowledge. He drags his eyes away from the ceiling and fixes them onto the other’s face, blinks to get his vision to focus. There are words filling his chest, sitting on the back of his tongue and he knows he’s about to say more then he should.

The blond sits up and crosses his legs on the bed, leans forward and takes the bottle back from Harry. “You wanted to talk.” He says, is surprised his words don’t come out slurred.

Draco takes another mouthful of the liquor, can feel the burn in his throat. The bed shifts, and Harry moves to sit a bit closer, legs crossed the same as the other.  He reaches for the bottle and takes another sip and Draco can’t help but focus on how their knees are pressed together, how Harry is sitting so _close_ to him.

“So talk.” Harry says, eyes a bright and vibrant green that the blond finds he cannot look away from. “You said you hate the prophet because they wrote about your mum? Is that all?”

“No.” Draco lets it out on an exhale, drags his eyes too look down at where his legs are crossed.

“Your father’s in Azkaban and that’s news so they wrote about it.” Harry’s tone is harsh, holds a finality to the statement. “It’s personal but not – the community should know who's been doing stuff for Voldemort.”

Draco flinches at the name, then shakes his head. He regrets the movement instantly, feels the room jerk and has to close his eyes. “My father’s an asshole, I get that, but he’s still my family.”

“And he still has done  – “

“He wasn’t always – this much of an ass.” Draco shifts and their knees bump. He locks his jaw for a second, muscles tense and years of practice at biting his tongue and holding his words back makes itself apparent. “It was – more, worse really, when I started school. My mother too, she’s always been harsh but she’s caring.” Clear eyes turn up and he’s unsure of what to make of Harry’s expression, of the easy smile he’s being given.

“They’re your family, I get that. It’s why I don’t like when you talk poorly of my friends.”

“This is different.” Draco looks away again, presses his lips together tightly. “I – hate a lot of – fuck never mind.” He reaches for the bottle but Harry moves it back.

“Keep talking.”

“Why for fuck's sake, you know why I hate the prophet now.”

Harry rolls his eyes as Draco makes another grab for the bottle. “You mentioned that like four days ago, so what else?”

“Because you’d know what bloody fucking day it was.” Another swipe at the bottle and Harry lets it go, is left staring. “You know what day it is now right?”

“The fourth of August.”

“That’s the other fucking reason.” Draco lifts the bottle to take another sip when his wrist is grabbed and pulled back.

“You didn’t want me to know the day?”

Clear eyes stare into curious green and it only takes a second for him to look away.

“Why?”

Draco stares down at his legs, can’t help but think of the pressure against his knees, of Harry’s presence before him. He feels his gut twist and his throat tighten, a nervous flutter filling him.

“…Why?” Harry tries again, is leaning forward just a bit more, invading his space.

He closes his eyes and tries to breathe in slowly, hates how he can smell the soap the other had used, how strong the scent is.

“Malfoy, why?”

“My name’s not – “ Glazed eyes snap up and he halts his sentence as the room spins.

“Draco, why?”

“I only have 16 days left with you.” He moves the half inch forward it takes to press their foreheads together, lets his focus drift down to where their legs are touching.

“We’ll see each other at school?” There’s a bit of concern in Harry’s words, a hint of confusion.

“We won’t get to be like this.” Draco’s words are quiet, almost muttered and he isn’t sure if he’s talking to himself or not in that moment.  He fidgets slightly, a light push against Harry and leans back, sets the remaining liquor on the nightstand. “I’m pissed so I’m going to bed.” A second later and he turns the lamp off. The room is left only in the light of the television, the soft sound of a sitcom playing in the background filling the otherwise silent space.

Draco curls up on his side, squeezes his eyes shut against the spinning of the room. He can feel the bed shift as Harry stands up, hears the click of the television turning off. His chest aches with a weird sense of finality, with the looming end of summer. He wants to blame the dizziness, the alcohol in his system, for the reason he keeps thinking of how Harry smelt out of the shower, for how warm he seemed sitting so close.

The other side of the bed dips, the shift of blankets and pillows being arranged.

Draco laughs to cover his sudden spike of anxiety, laughs at the sudden absurdness of the situation.

“The fuck are you doing Potter?”

“Harry.” He’s corrected. “And I’m getting ready for bed.”

“This is _my bed_.”

“And you’re really drunk – I want to know if you vomit in your sleep.”

The response is ridiculous sounding yet Draco can’t find the willpower to argue back, not with how the room is literally spinning. Harry continues to rearrange the pillows, to yank the blankets down from underneath Draco and situate himself. He spends far too long doing this, is given a sudden shove to the arm. “Lie the fuck down and stop making the bed shake!”

Harry drops back against his pillow, and Draco can hear him trying not to laugh.

The room goes silent, and the blond reaches up to press his palms to his eyes. He’s lightheaded and dizzy and mentally kicking himself for having drunk so much. A minute passes and then Harry is moving again, shifting beside him.

“Fucking shit Harry – can you not sit still?”

Draco opens his eyes, is slow to turn his head to the side. He finds himself staring at Harry who’s facing him, blankets pulled up halfway. He can tell he’s being stared at, despite it being dark, can feel Harry’s eyes on him.

“Would you care if I got the prophet now?” He asks, and it’s quiet.

“Would you stop fucking moving?” Draco’s met with silence. He turns to stare back up at the ceiling, thinks that it’s better to keep his eyes open with the way his heads spinning.

He can’t see the grin that spreads across Harry’s face, how wide and bright it is. “You – really are cunning.” A soft laugh and Harry rolls onto his back, “You _knew_ it was going to be my birthday.”

“Fucking shut it.”

“You didn’t want me to know what _day_ it was.”

“Don’t fucking say it.”

“You wanted to make it a surpr-“ Harry’s hit in the face with a pillow, the sudden movement from Draco surprising him.

“Can’t you just fucking – ” He cuts himself off, the room lurching forward as his stomach twists uncomfortably. Draco’s hand flies up to his mouth as he feels his gut rising up to his throat. He twists in the blankets, legs caught as he falls out of the bed.

The lamp on the nightstand flicks on and Harry scrambles after Draco who manages to grab the waste bin beside the bed. He hurls into it, the sound of water sloshing into the empty plastic filling the room.

Harry tucks pale strands of hair behind an ear, and rubs soothingly against Draco’s back. “Next time don’t drink so much.”

He’s given a pitiful whine in response.


End file.
